


Nothing Left, Not Even Pride

by lj_todd



Category: The Dark Tower (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt, Major character death - Freeform, Pain, Psychological Torture, Suffering, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lj_todd/pseuds/lj_todd
Summary: The Tower has fallen.The last of the Gunslingers slain.And Jake Chambers, prisoner of the darkness responsible for it all, has one option, one chance, to escape his fate.





	Nothing Left, Not Even Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this based on an idea sent to me by [mischief11things](https://mischief11things.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr. It took longer than I anticipated but here it is!

The Tower had fallen.

Crumbled into ruin and dust. Taking with it the last line of defence against the forces of the dark. The last line of defence against the Crimson King.

Demons and darkness and death poured into Mid-World, into all worlds, and Jake was powerless to stop it.

Strapped to that damnable chair, his Shine burning bright as the sun behind his eyes yet his vision still clear, he had been helpless to do anything but watch as Roland, the last of the Gunslingers, the man he had begun to view with the same love and respect and admiration he had for his father, fell at the hands of Walter. The Man in Black.

He had watched a shard of metal rip into Roland's chest, piercing the Gunslinger's chest, and he had screamed, his Shine rattling the chair, the machine, but not enough to free himself, not enough to destroy the machine and prevent the Tower's fall.

He watched as Roland fell to the floor, that dark gaze fixing on him, blood dripping, staining the Gunslinger's clothes, painting his lips, and Jake had screamed and raged, fighting against the chair, trying to use his Shine to free himself. Roland, breath rattling as death circled for him, had given a faint smile, the barest hint of it and, with his final breath, gave a final lesson.

_"There are other worlds than this."_

Those final words hung in the air as Roland's eyes became empty, the light going out behind them, a nearly imperceptible thing, but Jake screamed all the same.

He had felt a connection, a bond of sorts, with Roland and now it was gone.

Torn away like paper shredded into the breeze.

It was like losing his father and mother all over again.

It was worse.

Because, unlike his father and mother, Roland had seen something special in him. Roland had seen he wasn't crazy or broken. He was meant to be part of something bigger, something important. It was why he had been gifted the dreams, the strength, to find Roland and try and stop the Tower's fall.

If he had been stronger maybe he wouldn't have lost Roland.

Maybe the Tower would still stand.

The Man in Black, Walter, had been full of glee as he drew back to the chair, smiling at Jake almost proudly.

"I knew you would be the one," Walter crooned as he reached out, fingers dancing over Jake's hair. "You'll be so much more now. Big plans for you, Jake Chambers. Big plans."

Jake's skin crawled and he snarled, fighting against the machine again, and, when Walter touched him again he felt his Shine burn through his skull, felt something wet and warm glide down from his nose, over his lips and it took a minute to realize he was bleeding. He heard Walter shout, ordering his minions to get him out of the machine, and he fought the entire time until one them, feed up with him, slammed something into his head, rendering him unconscious.

When he woke, he was laying down, seemingly tucked into bed.

For a moment, just one heart stopping moment, he thought he was home. That everything had been a dream. That there was still a chance to save the Tower, to save Roland. But when he sat up, throwing the blanket back, he realized that was not the case.

The room was not large but nor was it small and it looked similar to his bedroom back in New York but there were little differences. The colors of the walls weren't quite right. The books on the shelves weren't really his. The bed was too big. And it didn't smell right. Too clean. Too neat.

He was a prisoner.

Trapped by the monster who had killed his mother, who had killed Roland, and who had brought unimaginable horrors into all worlds.

He sat there, unable to figure out why Walter had kept him alive.

The man had wanted him because of his Shine, because it had been strong enough to finally bring the Tower down.

So why hadn't Walter killed him?

Why had the man let him live?

Jake, carefully, searched the room and, when he found nothing that even hinted at an answer his fear began to give way to anger.

He had failed.

Everything he had sought to do, protect the Tower, fight with Roland, help the Gunslinger save all worlds.

He had failed.

In his anger his Shine burned through his mind and then tore through the room, leaving it in tatters.

When the door suddenly opened he let out a vicious sound and spun, thinking to use his Shine, to keep fighting, but he was struck by an unseen force that threw him into the wall. As he slumped to the floor, groaning in pain, he looked up at the demon, large and dark and twisted in every wrong way imaginable, standing there, growling, and then a soft click of a tongue caused the demon to step back.

"No need to be so rough, sweetheart," Walter purred as he strolled, calmly, smugly, into the room. Dressed in his usual dark suit, hands folded behind his back, he looked almost normal. Almost human. And Jake felt his anger burn hot through him again, his Shine a brightness in his mind, blazing like a wildfire as he pushed himself up to his feet.

Walter looked at him, seemingly amused, and clicked his tongue again.

"Oh, Jake, Jake, Jake." The man shook his head. "As strong as you are you are no where near skilled enough to even try and use that powerful Shine on me." 

He snapped his fingers and the demon snarled, pushing Jake back against the wall so quickly it was impossible to track its movements.

"Now," Walter moved closer and Jake ground his teeth together as he watched the man reach out and run a hand over the demon's shoulder, making it rumble before it moved back and away. "We don't want you hurting yourself, do we? Wouldn't do well if that were to happen."

Jake glared at Walter.

"The hell do you want with me?! You got what you wanted!"

Walter smiled, if that twisted look could be called a smile, and Jake bared his teeth.

"Oh, sweet boy," Walter cooed and Jake felt his skin crawl as the man reached out and brushed a hand over his hair. "The Tower has fallen but there is still so much more to be done. The King comes knocking and he _will_ need an heir. Either of his own blood or one fashioned to it." He grinned again and bopped Jake on the end of the nose with his knuckle. "That's where you come in, Jake."

Again Jake's skin crawled and a cold chill rolled down his spine.

He did not like the gleam in Walter's eyes.

"What..." He hated how his voice wavered, how the fear was starting to crawl back up into his throat, all but chocking him. "What do you mean?"

Walter ran a finger down Jake's cheek, ignoring the tremor that rolled through the boy, still grinning.

"The King has tried for...well...quite a long time to have a child of his own blood. Hasn't worked out too well so far." Walter cupped Jake's chin, thumb rubbing over his jaw, and Jake trembled. "But every King needs an heir, Jake. Someone strong. Someone powerful. Someone with Shine powerful enough to, oh say, destroy the Dark Tower."

Jake's heart plummeted, feeling like it dropped to his shoes, beyond his shoes, and his stomach rolled in disgust.

Walter, if he noticed the horror in him, seemed content to ignore it.

"It'll take time, naturally," Walter continued, still grinning, seemingly pleased as punch with his plan. "To train you, teach you properly. Erase all that nonsense Roland managed to drill into that innocent little head of yours. But we'll make you the perfect little prince in no time at all."

Jake felt the bile crawl up his throat and he let out a distressed sound as Walter straightened, turning to look at the demon.

"Bring him," the man ordered and the demon growled before moving to comply, dragging Jake, who fought and screamed, from the room.

**_oOoOoOo_ **

Days, possibly weeks, crawled by and all Jake knew was the agony of Walter's so called _training_.

The man forced him, time and time again, into that damnable chair, trying to forge some sort of bond between Jake's mind and the consciousness of the Crimson King. Something about the King needed a connection with Jake in order for him to be properly crafted into the dark being's heir.

Jake fought.

Every time he fought.

His Shine burned through his skull, making his nose bleed and his vision swim to near blackness, but he fought.

He felt the foreign, oily press of the Crimson King's consciousness bushing against his mind, trying to find a way in, a way to twist Jake and make him another puppet, like Walter was, each time he was forced back into the chair.

But he fought.

For the people who suffered and died because of the loss of the Tower.

For his mother, who had been killed as a taunt to him and Roland.

For Roland, who had been a father to him when he had desperately needed one.

He fought so hard that he nearly tore his own mind apart with the Shine.

As he was suddenly yanked from the chair, the session going as poorly as all the rest, Jake heard Walter yelling, heard the man's minions whining and cowering as he hit the floor, coughing up something thick and sticky. It tasted coppery. Like an old penny.

He laid there until Walter grabbed hold of him, hoisting him upwards and hauling him to what served as the man's office. He had learned, early on, that they were still at the man's compound in Mid-World. And he didn't know if he hated that more or less than the man who was now forcing him to sit on a low sofa.

"Stupid boy," he heard Walter mutter as a bottle of water was shoved into his hands. "Fighting like this only prolongs the inevitable. And causes you unnecessary pain. If you would just give in there would be no more pain. No more suffering. You would be powerful beyond your understanding. You would be all but a god."

Jake looked up at Walter, blood still dripping from his nose, and glared as best he could.

"Fuck...you..." He bit the words out through the pain and Walter sighed in exasperation.

Before the man could say anything else a commotion erupted in the hallway and Walter hurried away to deal with it, yelling at a demon who, it seemed, had attacked a few of his minions.

Jake sat there, fighting through the pain, wondering how much longer he could keep fighting the King, how much longer he could survive being strapped to the chair, when something caught his eye above the desk.

Blinking, he looked up and sucked in a sharp breath as he realized what he was looking at.

The Sandalwood Guns.

Roland's guns.

Walter had kept them as a trophy.

A reminder of his final victory over the last of the Gunslingers.

Jake's heart, what pieces were left, shattered completely.

But at the same time a thought occurred to him.

An option that he hadn't had before.

Glancing to the door, hearing Walter still shouting, he drew a shaky breath, the bottle of water falling from his hands and, reaching out with his Shine, he slammed the door shut.

He heard a new commotion rise, saw several people, of things that looked like people, rush to the door but he held it shut. His Shine stronger from all the days spent keeping the Crimson King from overtaking his mind. He saw Walter coming, flanked by demons, as he rose on shaking legs. He ignored it all, knowing Walter couldn't open the door, his Shine was too strong for that, and made his way behind the desk.

"Jake!" Walter beat his hand against the glass, which held strong, between the man's magic woven into it and Jake's Shine it wasn't likely to break. "Jake, open the door. Open the door, little prince."

Jake ignored the man as he managed, weakly, to climb onto the table below where the guns were hanging. The noise outside the room grew louder, Walter shouting, the demons snarling, as Jake managed to reach up and take down one of the guns. It was heavy but familiar in his hands. He remembered that day in the warehouse, remembered Roland handing him the gun, remembered the man showing him, teaching him, how to properly wield the weapon.

"Jake!" Walter's voice pierced through his thoughts and Jake glanced over at the glass, at the man, who was watching him with an almost frantic look. "Jake, put that back now. Just put it back and we'll forget anything ever happened. We don't need to go making waves when things are going so smoothly."

Jake blinked and suddenly his mother was standing next to Walter.

"Jake, honey," she pressed her hands to the glass. "Jake, listen to me, that thing is dangerous. Please, baby, just put it down and come to me. I don't want you to get hurt, baby."

Jake twitched.

It seemed so real.

But that night in the woods, the night with that first demon, burned through is mind and as he looked at Roland's gun again he knew there was only one way out.

Carefully he checked the gun and found it was loaded with fresh bullets.

He heard Walter shout his name, heard them all beating at the door, fighting to open it, but he pushed hard with his Shine, fighting back as he cocked the hammer.

"Jake!"

He froze at the sound of that voice.

"Jake! Put it down, son!"

He slowly turned his head and there, at the door, was Roland.

His eyes were wide and he looked afraid.

"Jake," Roland called to him again, sounding like he had that night in the woods. Like he had when the village had been attacked at Jake had almost been taken. "Jake, please, put it down. I'm here now. I'm here. I'll protect you, Jake. Just put down the gun."

Jake's hand wavered, shaking, as he stared at Roland.

But then he remembered.

The metal in Roland's chest.

The blood spilling beneath him.

The dying words whispered like a precious secret.

_There are other worlds than this._

"You're not him," Jake said softly, voice cracking, tears spilling down his face. " _Not my Roland_."

Jake drew a breath, steadying himself.

Remembering Roland's teachings.

"I do not aim with my hand," he whispered, remembering Roland smiling when he shot that first can. "He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye."

He exhaled slowly, feeling his heartbeat begin to slow.

"I do not shoot with my hand," he continued, remembering Roland's first reaction to Coca Cola and it brought a watery smile to his face. "He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind."

He drew another deep breath, the pain finally fading away, his Shine bright in his mind, blocking out everything but what he _had_ to do.

"I do not kill with my gun. He who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father."

Jake slowly lifted the gun, the end of the barrel to his temple, the roars from the hallway fading to nothing but white noise.

"I kill with my heart."

His finger began to tighten on the trigger as Roland's face filled his mind.

The man looked at him proudly and smiled and Jake knew he had made the right choice.

Tears spilling down his face he smiled as he closed his eyes.

"I remember the face of my father."

The last thing he knew was the crack of the gunshot.

**_oOoOoOo_ **

Jake let out a startled shout and jerked upright, limbs flailing, heart hammering and he nearly jumped out of his skin when hands grabbed hold of him.

"JAKE!"

He blinked and stared up, impossibly, at Roland.

Hurriedly looking around he found himself in the clearing where they had camped the night he had seen his first demon.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he looked again at Roland, feeling the early tingle of the connection between them, his Shine reaching out to the Gunslinger, and he knew, that somehow, he had come back to a time before. He had a second chance. And now he was stronger. His Shine more powerful. And he understood now what Roland had meant with those dying words.

_There are other worlds than this._

Everything was connected in time and space in ways that defied any and all explanations.

They had another chance.

They could save the Tower.

With a low sob he threw himself at Roland, clinging to the man, face pressed to his shoulder and the Gunslinger, despite being gruff, despite it still being so early in this timeline, hugged him tight, a hand rubbing over his back, trying to comfort him.

When he tried to explain to Roland what had happened the man had stopped him, wiping his tears away.

"It happens to some," Roland explained, pulling Jake close again, holding him. "Some Gunslingers or members of their ka-tet. Forced to relive things, important things they are fated to do, until they get it right." He gently rocked Jake, who still clung to him. "I've walked many lifetimes and many worlds. Always fighting to defend the Tower."

Jake remembered the whispered words from the dream that had sent him searching for Roland.

_"The Man in Black fled across the desert and the Gunslinger followed."_

Roland and Walter had been fated to fight until the end of time.

Until Roland completed his true destiny and saved the Tower or brought forth its final fall.

Only Roland could do one or the other.

Only the last of the Gunslingers.

Jake and anyone else, and he knew there would be others, others for the ka-tet, would simply be pawns to help or hinder that fate.

Clinging to Roland, Jake made a silent vow that, whatever came next, they would fight together. He would fight and save the Tower.

Saving the Tower meant saving not only all worlds but Roland.

And Jake refused to watch Roland die again.

He would die first.


End file.
